


La Vie En Rose

by TrekBec82



Series: Ineffable Husbands [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Marriage Proposal, Oral Sex, Paris (City), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-08 03:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20294227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekBec82/pseuds/TrekBec82
Summary: The Ineffable Husbands go to Paris. Marriage proposals ensue.





	La Vie En Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Who knew - when I started writing Your Glory and Your Love - that this would become a series and take over my life? Not me, that's for sure. It now seems likely to comprise SEVEN parts by the time it's finished.
> 
> The title comes from the Édith Piaf song of the same name - arguably the French love song best known outside of France, and certainly the one I enjoyed most in my searching. Links are in notes at the end for both the English and French versions.
> 
> If you'd like to follow me on Tumblr - where I share loads of Good Omens posts and a sprinkling of other things - you can do so at [TrekBec82](http://trekbec82.tumblr.com/).
> 
> You can find the complete playlist on [YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLXBALksKVRE2bF5VWUnrhX4OuF94z494F) or [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7rjpbbQIeE3Bf6oZttpxm5?si=7cmEMHVOQWaHJ36pLPu0RA).

They were on their way to Paris! Aziraphale was looking forward to the getaway with Crowley even more than he'd let on, largely because of the small box nestled in the inner breast pocket of his coat. They'd spent 3 weeks planning, making bookings, and arranging for Madame Tracy to take care of Crowley's plants while they were away. There were few people Crowley trusted, and it took no small amount of cajoling to convince the former demon that she was up to the task. Aziraphale had succeeded in the end though, and so they were now on the Eurotunnel Le Shuttle train, with the Bentley nearby, ready to drive onwards to the Ritz once they arrived in Calais. 

Aziraphale may have been even more excited had he been aware of the small box zipped safely into a side pocket of Crowley's hand luggage, but as yet he was unaware of the impending duality of his proposal. It said something about the two Caretakers (the implications of that new title still felt a little strange to both of them) that they were planning to propose to each other at almost exactly the same time, in exactly the same place (give or take 20cm), with almost identical rings - after having declared their love for each other only 6 weeks earlier. It probably helped that they'd known each other for 6 millennia, cared about each other for about 10 minutes less than that, and loved each other for somewhere between 78 and 6000 years, depending on how one did the maths. 

Aziraphale snuggled closer to Crowley (who had a lanky arm draped over his shoulders) and continued reading Chocolat. His French still wasn't what it ought to be, so a novel set in France but written in English had seemed ideal for passing the time on the train. His love of chocolate had made the selection easier, as he'd decided Les Misérables was simply too heartbreaking for this trip...though his own experience of the French Revolution had been rather more pleasant, with Crowley saving him from the Bastille - and sharing those delectable crêpes afterwards. 

Crowley meanwhile was fretting about his proposal. They'd made a booking for Le Jules Verne, on the second floor of the Eiffel Tower. He had the ring. He'd chosen a song, and contacted the restaurant to organise having it played after dessert. He had words running through his head, but none of them sounded right. How was he supposed to propose if he couldn't get the words out?! He was planning to get down on one knee - he was sure Aziraphale would appreciate that human tradition - and open the ring box - that was easy enough - and say - say - SAY WHAT?! He couldn't just say "Aziraphale, will you marry me?" - that didn't express the depth of his feelings, it wasn't poetic in any way. It was dull. Trite. Pathetic. 

It didn't help matters that Crowley was struggling somewhat with being an angel again. After 6000 years of being a demon he was extraordinarily out of practice at being an angel, though he had to admit the Agreement had made it less difficult than it otherwise might have been. He was used to performing blessings and benevolent miracles - that wasn't a problem for him - but sensing virtues instead of vices was doing his head in - and threatening to make his heart burst into the bargain. He thought he'd known how much Aziraphale loved him, but now he could feel it with every fibre of his being, and it was overwhelming. Which meant that Aziraphale could sense how much Crowley loved him in return - and must have known LONG before it was ever said aloud. Which was why he was determined to find the right words to propose with, and failing utterly. 

No human words would ever be sufficient to express how Crowley felt about Aziraphale in any way even approaching adequate - and adequate simply wouldn't do for this moment. He'd finally figured out WHY he wanted to marry Aziraphale though, so maybe that was a good starting point. Marriage wasn't something angels did, ordinarily - but as Caretakers, soul mates, and lovers - beloved to each other - they weren't ordinary angels. They had a mandate to care for humanity, Earth, and each other. They would have done anyway, but having a mandate from God Herself was a big deal, and no mistake. So Crowley wanted to marry Aziraphale. He wanted them to be bound to each other in every conceivable way, and marriage was one of the enduring bonds humanity recognised. The vows would have to include "for as long as you both shall live" rather than "until death do you part" for obvious reasons, but he was fine with that. Ugh, why was it easier to choose wedding vows than to write marriage proposals? Can't have one without the other first, so it shouldn't be this difficult! 

Aziraphale had written his proposal in 5 minutes flat. He knew exactly how he felt about Crowley, and exactly how he wanted to express it. He just had to wait for the right moment, and hope that all went to plan. They had a dinner booking for Le Jules Verne. He had a ring - ordered from a jeweller in Australia, and delivered discreetly by courier with books he'd ordered specifically to avert suspicion. He'd called the restaurant and asked them to play a specific song just before their dessert was served. He was certain of his feelings, and certain of Crowley's in return, thus confident of a response in the affirmative. 

The train arrived at the Calais terminal only a minute or so behind schedule, and they disembarked with the Bentley, beginning the three hour drive to Paris. Crowley had become positively saintlike in his adherence to speed limits in recent weeks, discovering that he quite enjoyed the more sedate pace when Aziraphale was with him and the world wasn't threatening to end. He was also enjoying listening to something other than Queen in the Bentley, as Aziraphale had instituted a strict rotation policy - the only discs to remain in the vehicle for more than 10 days at a time were actual copies Queen's Greatest Hits Volumes 1-3 - and so everything else remained what it was supposed to be. Crowley had mentally kicked himself for not thinking of the tactic himself years earlier. 

Crowley had been making an effort to introduce Aziraphale to a wider variety of music - though old habits dying hard as they so often do, he'd stuck predominantly to artists either residing in or destined for Hell - they tended to make better music, no matter what their other proclivities might have been whilst living. Upon arrival in Calais, Crowley had chosen Fleetwood Mac's Rumours - arguably their best album that wasn't a Best Of - and was currently singing along with Songbird.  
🎶 _And the songbirds are singing, like they know the score. And I love you, I love you, I love you, like never before._ 🎶 

Aziraphale knew beyond any doubt that he wanted to dance with Crowley to this song at their wedding reception, and mentally added it to the already substantial playlist he'd been working on. He hadn't written the playlist down yet as he was worried Crowley might find it - and he SO wanted the proposal to be a surprise. Aziraphale had an excellent memory, so the biggest problem was finding out what songs were called in order to add them - without making the former demon suspicious. 

"This is a beautiful song, Crowley," Aziraphale said.  
"It sure is, Angel. Christine McVie may be Hell-bound, but she has a Heavenly voice, and Songbird is one of her best," Crowley replied.  
"Christine McVie? I thought this album was by Fleetwood Mac?"  
"It is. Fleetwood Mac are one of those bands where each individual member is excellent in their own right, but collectively are even more brilliant." 

"Ah, I see. A bit like us, then."  
"Like us?" Crowley scoffed.  
"Certainly. We do our best work together, I believe. I know I do."  
"You really think that, Angel?"  
"You don't?" Aziraphale asked.  
"Not exactly, no. I would have said I do my best work when it's FOR you."  
"Like Hamlet."  
"Not what I was thinking of, but sure, making Hamlet popular enough that kids are still forced to learn it at school more than 400 years later is a good example."  
"What WERE you thinking of, my dear?"  
"Rescuing you from the Bastille. Destroying a church to save you from Nazis. Driving to Tadfield in a burning vehicle with no actual plan for how to avert the apocalypse, because all I wanted was to find you and get the Hell out of there."  
"Oh, Crowley."  
"It's true Angel, and I'm not ashamed to say it. I'm glad the world didn't end, but the one thing I wanted to save more than anything else was you." 

At this point Aziraphale almost threw his plans out the window and proposed on the spot. He didn't, but it was a very near thing. He knew - he could sense - how much Crowley loved him, but hearing it spelled out so plainly was still so new, and so wonderful, that he was overcome. He sat and listened to Fleetwood Mac, sometimes with Crowley joining in, and watched the French countryside go by. 

When Rumours ended a little over 15 minutes later, Crowley turned to Aziraphale and said "OK Angel, your turn to choose a CD."  
"Would you help me choose, my dear?" Aziraphale asked.  
"What help do you need?"  
"Well, I still don't really know who sings what sort of music, so if I describe something, maybe you can tell me what to look for…"  
"Oh! Yeah, we can do it that way if you want something in particular instead of a random selection. What do you have in mind?"  
"Well, I seem to like bands with talented drummers."  
"OK…lots of bands have talented drummers though, so we need to narrow it down a bit more," Crowley said. 

"I like bands that you can sing along with."  
"You like my singing, Angel?"  
"Yes I do, very much, but I meant the general you, not you specifically. Songs that are sung clearly enough to understand the words - or most of them at least."  
"Ah, OK, so no notorious mumblers."  
"Something gentle - I'm not in the mood for headbanging at the moment," Aziraphale added.  
"The fact that you even know what headbanging is means I'm definitely succeeding at expanding your musical horizons, " Crowley chuckled.  
"Maybe something with violins? Not classical. Just a little bit orchestral, with vocals."  
"Their songs aren't what I'd call orchestral, but The Corrs fit the rest of that description fairly well."  
"What genre would you say they are?"  
"They go between genres a bit, depending on which album you listen to. Folk rock, soft rock, and pop, mostly."  
"OK. What album should I look for?" Aziraphale asked.  
"Either Forgiven Not Forgotten, or Talk On Corners - the first two albums are their best in my opinion."  
"Alright. Let me see…" 

Aziraphale found Forgiven Not Forgotten first, and put it into the Bentley's stereo system. Two songs in particular stood out to him. He added Runaway to his Wedding Reception Playlist because it reminded him of Crowley asking him to run off to Alpha Centauri together. The other was a beautiful instrumental track called The Minstrel Boy - Aziraphale had found the song he wanted to walk down the aisle to! He already had ideas about how he wanted the wedding to go. Outdoors - with a gazebo just in case of rain. Three aisles - one with white fabric at an angle to the left, one with black fabric at an angle to the right, and one with gold fabric going straight through the centre. He would walk down the white aisle, Crowley would walk down the black aisle, and once married, they would walk up the gold aisle together. Oh, how he longed to marry Crowley! Before the wedding could take place though, he needed to propose. Which meant getting to Paris - and holding it in until dinner the following night! 

Sticking to the speed limit and being considerate of other motorists, it took just over 3 hours from the terminal at Calais to the Ritz Hôtel, during which time they listened to several more albums, held hands, and discussed their plans for the next few days. They'd booked the Suite Impériale - at 218m² (2347 sq. ft.) it was the largest suite in the hotel by a substantial margin. Crowley had been keen on the Appartement Ritz with its private access and seventh floor views, but Aziraphale had successfully argued in favour of the Impériale, as its sheer size would allow them to literally spread their wings. The opulent bathroom with luxurious round bathtub was another draw card - easily large enough for them to soak together, it offered an opportunity they hadn't experienced since before the fall of the Roman empire - during which time their relationship had been vastly different. 

They were planning to have a relaxing evening in their suite, with dinner at one of the restaurants in the hotel, and a good night's sleep (or a good night reading) before visiting the Louvre the next day - followed by their 7 course dégustation at Le Jules Verne. The day after that they were intending to visit Notre-Dame, to see if there was anything they could do to speed up its repairs and renovations. Crowley had already decided that if money was the greatest issue, he'd simply create bank transfers for the wealthiest pledges who'd yet to follow through on actually donating funds. He was looking forward to seeing the gothic cathedral's interiors in person for the first time, as he strongly suspected that photos couldn't do it justice - no matter how skilled the photographer might be. 

After successfully checking into their suite, the two angels removed their upper garments and spread their wings - stretching tightness out of their muscles, and enjoying the way the light played on the new colours of their feathers. It pleased Crowley greatly that Aziraphale was becoming less self-conscious about his body, and considered it one of his better achievements in recent years - certainly it had benefited him, in addition to doing Aziraphale good. He may be an angel himself again now, but he would NEVER forgive Gabriel for causing Aziraphale such anguish. Some things were simply unforgivable, and hurting Aziraphale was one of them in Crowley’s book. Besides which, it could be argued that God’s orders to “care for each other” condoned wanting to thump anyone who was nasty to his hopefully-future-husband. He didn’t want to discorporate Gabriel, just kick him hard in the shins while wearing heavy duty work boots and performing a small miracle to prevent Gabriel from instantly healing himself. Crowley knew from experience what bone-deep-bruising felt like, and Gabriel deserved the 12-15 weeks of aching lower limb as far as he was concerned.

Aziraphale was enjoying the sensation of being shirtless with his wings out - especially given that Crowley was equally bare from the waist up. He really was a delicious sight, and Aziraphale was very tempted to grab a hold of the former demon and ravish him on the spot. The only thing that stopped him was finding an almost equally delicious plate of chocolate covered strawberries alongside a bottle of champagne on ice, just as a rumble sounded from his belly. Strictly speaking angels don’t get hungry, but strictly speaking they don’t get horny either, and Aziraphale was presently both. Crowley didn’t eat often or much, but Aziraphale had found that he was more willing to eat a morsel if it was held between Aziraphale’s teeth as he tried to kiss him. Aziraphale therefore ate several strawberries, then taking the smallest, employed the recently discovered tactic with undisguised fervour. 

As they shared the strawberry - and a kiss which lingered far longer than the fresh fruit - Aziraphale ran his hands over the slender torso of his lover, then undid Crowley’s belt, and the fly of his jeans. Aziraphale proceeded to kiss his way down Crowley’s body, starting with his chiseled jawline and working his way down to the waistband of the ridiculously skinny jeans. Fortunately for both of them, Aziraphale was now well-practiced at removing said jeans without the need for miracles, and within moments was kneeling before Crowley, who was now clad in nothing but what appeared to be plain black briefs. 

When Aziraphale’s hands moved to remove these also, Crowley took hold of them and said “wait.”  
“What? Why?” Aziraphale asked.  
“You didn’t look at the back.”  
“Oh! They’re not plain black then?”  
“No, Angel. Take a look.”  
Aziraphale stretched, and Crowley half-turned so that the angel could see his rear.  
Aziraphale laughed, and said “oh, I like these ones!”  
“Thought you might,” replied Crowley.  
On one buttock was a red apple with a crescent missing, and the other had two words in bold green script: “BITE ME!”

Aziraphale took hold of Crowley’s hips, turning him further around, then followed the instructions in front of him - though gently enough not to leave any lingering marks.  
“Oi, that’s enough of that!” Crowley exclaimed.  
“Just doing what I’m told, dear” Aziraphaled said with feigned innocence.  
Crowley turned back around and said “should have known better than to tempt you with these.”  
“I’m sorry dear, did I bite too hard?”  
“Nah, ‘s fine Angel. Maybe carry on with what you were doing a minute ago though, if you don’t mind?”  
“I don’t mind at all!” 

Aziraphale kissed along the waistband of Crowley’s briefs (why was it still called a waistband when it was slung low around the hips?) then removed them in one smooth motion born from an astonishing amount of practice in such a relatively short period of time. Crowley’s Effort was already standing to attention, and Aziraphale applied his mouth to it with relish.  
“Oh fuck! Angel, that feels amazing!” Crowley groaned.  
“M gld y lk t” Aziraphale mumbled, not pausing to enunciate more clearly.  
As Crowley drew ever nearer to his inevitable climax, he tangled his fingers into Aziraphale’s hair, and spread his wings to maintain his balance.  
With a gasp and then a moan Crowley came, and Aziraphale drank every drop as though it were a mug of rich cocoa, ensuring none was wasted or spilled.

When Crowley’s ability to function returned, he raised Aziraphale from his knees and said, “I seem to recall that this suite has a very large bathtub...would you care to go for a soak together?”  
“Oh, yes, let’s!”  
“We might need to put our wings away though - I don’t fancy trying to get them dry without flicking water everywhere.”  
“Yes, I suppose it would be rather discourteous of us to do that,” Aziraphale said.  
“Rather discourteous indeed, Angel.”  
They walked through the suite to the bathroom, and Crowley turned the taps on as far as they would go.  
“This might take a while to fill,” he said.  
“It might, at that. We’re in no rush though, are we dear?”  
“No rush at all. Gives me time to help you out of those trousers.”

Crowley held Aziraphale close and kissed him, once again tangling his long fingers through Aziraphale’s pale curls, before running them slowly over every bit of exposed skin. When his hands reached Aziraphale’s waist, he undid both belt and trousers, and lowered them over Aziraphale’s hips, dropping them to the floor. A quick glance down proved Crowley right in thinking that the angel was once again wearing white boxer briefs with a gaudy print - though a quick glance was insufficient to determine what the print was of. Closer examination revealed it to be a repeating pattern of two angels - one blonde, the other redheaded - dancing what was clearly the gavotte. Aziraphale had obviously had these made especially, as no regular manufacturer of men’s undergarments was likely to have even heard of the gavotte. 

Grinning gleefully, Crowley removed the silliest underwear he’d yet seen on his beloved, and said “I think the bath is almost full enough now, don’t you?”  
“I think so, yes. Should we add some of this lovely product they’ve provided?”  
“Alright, but not too much, I don’t want to be smelling like roses for a week.”  
“It’s orange blossom, not rose…”  
“Orange blossoms are better than roses, but I still don’t want to smell like them for too long.”  
“Just a little splash,” Aziraphale promised, as he poured a liberal amount of product into the bath.  
“You’re diabolical - you know that, don’t you?” Crowley accused.  
“Who, me?” Aziraphale asked, playing the innocent once again.  
“Yes, you!”  
“Ah, you love me!”  
“I do, but that doesn’t mean you’re not diabolical.”  
“I love you too, dear.”

They both stepped into the tub, and sank into the warm water - now heavily fragranced with orange blossoms. Crowley found the switch for the jets and turned them on, effectively ending the conversation for a while as they enjoyed the massaging effects of the water churning around them. Some time later, Crowley moved to straddle Aziraphale, cupping his face in both hands and kissing him languorously. Eventually Aziraphale broke the kiss to ask “should we move to the bedroom, my dear?”  
“We’ll make the bed damp if we do that right now, Angel.”  
“There are two beds,” Aziraphale reminded him.  
“So there are. Yes, let’s go to bed.”

They turned off the jets, pulled the plug, and got out of the bath, then stumbled to the bedroom NOT designed to replicate that which once belonged to Marie-Antoinette - kissing and fondling as they went. When they reached the foot of the bed, Crowley backed Aziraphale against it, then leaned into the angel so he lay back. Crowley once again straddled his beloved, and as Aziraphale wriggled his way up the bed, followed like a cat stalking its prey. 

Aziraphale was fond of every aspect of intimacy between them, but Predatory Crowley was one of his favourite iterations. Knowing that Crowley sought him thus made Aziraphale feel loved in ways he hadn't realised were possible prior to embarking on the physical component of their relationship - the fact that it felt so transcendentally wonderful was simply a spectacular bonus. Rather like the perfect ganache on a truly scrumptious mud cake. 

They spent the next few hours in bed, giving each other pleasure in ways still new to them - though almost as old as time itself - until finally they lay sated in each other's arms. Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley's short hair and asked "my love, would you consider growing your hair longer?"  
"You want me to grow my hair, Angel?" Crowley asked.  
"Not if you really don't want to, but I did so love it when it was long - I always wished I could brush and braid it for you, but I was too scared to ask."  
"In that case, consider it growing." 

Angels and demons (and one former-demon-returned-angel) differ from humanity in a number of ways, and the speed of hair growth - when they choose to grow it - is one of them. Whilst a mere mortal might take anywhere between 2 and 12 months to grow their hair out, Crowley’s grew before Aziraphale’s eyes, until it fell in loose waves to his shoulders. Aziraphale sighed contentedly, carding his fingers through the much longer locks, and smiled. “Thank you, darling.”  
“You’re welcome, Angel. You know I never could say no to something you wanted, if I could give it to you.”  
“Pssh. What about all those times I asked you not to drive at 90mph through London?”  
“You liked going fast, you just never wanted to admit it!”  
“I certainly did not!” Aziraphale exclaimed.  
“If you hated it so much, why did you keep doing it then?”  
“Because I wanted to spend time with YOU!” Aziraphale retorted - then soothingly added “I could have spent more time with you if you’d driven slower.”

They lapsed into silence for a few moments, then Crowley quietly asked “So you like me obeying the speed limit then?”  
“I do. Though perhaps while we’re on the continent we could go for a drive on the Autobahn - give you a chance to go as fast as you like, somewhere that it’s fairly safe,” Aziraphale suggested.  
“See, you DO like going fast!”  
“I like not being discorporated more.”  
“I never got you discorporated! Shadwell’s the one who did that - the great prat.”  
Aziraphale chuckled. It was still a sore point for Crowley, that Shadwell had been the cause of Aziraphale’s discorporation, and he wasn’t likely to forgive the retired Witchfinder any time soon. Which was fine with him, because he hadn’t entirely forgiven the man yet either.

After another brief silence in which they simply held each other close, Crowley spoke again. "Angel, can I ask you something?"  
"Of course, my dear."  
"When did you start to love me?"  
"Goodness. There are several ways I can answer that."  
"What are they?" 

Aziraphale smiled. "I loved you in the all-encompassing angelic way from the moment we met, naturally. I appreciated you reassuring me that giving the sword to Original Adam was the right thing to do. I liked you much more after the ark, when I realised you were disobedient rather than evil. More still after the crucifixion. And so on and so forth through the centuries, liking you more and more until I realised I loved you in a decidedly NON-angelic fashion - and how dangerous that was for both of us."

"When did you realise you loved me?" Crowley asked in a whisper.  
"1941. The same moment I realised that it wasn't just general background love I was sensing - but that YOU loved ME."  
Tears sprang into Crowley's eyes. "I thought - when you told me I went too fast for you - I thought that you LIKED me but didn't LOVE me."  
"Oh, Crowley, no - I loved you, but I was terrified of what that meant - of what Heaven might do to me, and what Hell would surely do to you!"  
"But now…"  
"Now Heaven and Hell can both _get bent_, to borrow that lovely human expression. You're stuck with me, Crowley. Forever, if you'll have me." 

"Stay here a moment, would you Angel?" Crowley said, and got out of bed. Aziraphale sat up, and watched him collect a small box from his luggage. He came back, and opening the box, knelt before Aziraphale.  
"I will gladly have you forever. I was going to propose to you tomorrow night after dessert, but I can't wait another moment. Aziraphale, would you do me the greatest honour possible, and marry me, please?"  
Wide-eyed, Aziraphale got out of bed, found his coat, and returned with an identical box. Kneeling before a bewildered Crowley, he opened the box and said "If you'll grant me the extraordinary honour of marrying me." 

Crowley took a white gold ring patterned with a wheat design - which reminded both of them of feathers in their wings - and placed it on Aziraphale's left ring finger. Aziraphale then took the matching ring of rose gold, and placed it on Crowley's. Clasping both hands between them they kissed, faces aglow with joy and love.  
Aziraphale then said "I was planning to ask you tomorrow night too - BEFORE dessert!"  
"We bought matching rings!" Crowley added.  
"Well we do have excellent taste. Though if you tell me you've requested the same song at Le Jules Verne, I may cry."  
"I asked them to play Édith Piaf, La Vie En Rose - the English version, because your French is abysmal."  
"I asked them to play the French version because yours is flawless!"  
They laughed, kissed again, then stood and embraced, knowing they were finally on the same page, travelling at the same speed.

"You know, the poor staff are probably very confused," Aziraphale mused.  
"Would you like me to give them a call and clear things up?" Crowley asked.  
"Oh would you, my dear?"  
"Sure thing, _fiancé_."  
Aziraphale wriggled with delight at _fiancé_.  
Grinning at Aziraphale, Crowley called Le Jules Verne and explained that he and his betrothed had planned near-identical proposals, but had jumped the gun and become engaged a day early. After receiving heartfelt congratulations from the staff member at the other end of the line, Crowley requested they play whichever version of La Vie En Rose they preferred - DURING dessert. 

Call completed, Crowley took Aziraphale by the waist and pulled him close once more. The angel smiled, cupped Crowley's face in his hands, and kissed him tenderly.  
"Would you like to go and have some dinner, Angel?" Crowley enquired.  
"Going anywhere requires getting dressed, so no, I am quite content here. Thank you though, love."  
"We could order room service and put on robes for just long enough to be decent…"  
"That sounds better!"  
They ordered champagne to accompany the food, which Crowley sipped as he sat contentedly watching Aziraphale eat - occasionally receiving small helpings to try. When the last morsel had been eaten Crowley climbed into Aziraphale's lap, and kissed him thoroughly. 

"Mmmmm." Aziraphale hummed.  
"Mmm?" Crowley hummed in reply.  
"Could I interest you in returning to bed, my love?"  
"You certainly could, Angel. What would you like to do there?"  
"I'd very much like to consummate our engagement, if you don't mind."  
"Have I mentioned that I love how much of a hedonist you are?"  
"I believe you have, but I don't mind you saying it again."  
"Good. Because I REALLY love how much of a hedonist you are - it's like you can't get enough of me - and I am NOT complaining!"  
"I don't think I will EVER get enough of you, Crowley dear. Honestly, if I had to choose between food, and sex with you, I'd probably choose sex."  
"But you LOVE food! You've been into food for millennia!" Crowley exclaimed.  
"Well, yes, I'd very much prefer to not have to choose, but if I were forced to…" Aziraphale trailed off.  
"You'd choose ME over food. Now I really know how much you love me!" Crowley said, grinning.  
"Oh, shut up and kiss me!" Aziraphale said, grinning in response.  
Eager to please his beloved, Crowley kissed him thoroughly - before Aziraphale stood, scooping his fiancé into his arms as did so, and carried him to the bedroom. 

The following morning they rose, breakfasted on pastries and fruit, then strolled arm-in-arm to the Louvre. Signs in the languages most common to guests indicated that the Mona Lisa - most visited off all artworks in the Musée (and arguably the world) - was temporarily housed in the Galerie Médicis (room 801) whist the Salle des États was being renovated. Crowley had visited the completed painting several times previously, and still preferred the sketch Leonardo had gifted to him some 5 centuries earlier. Aziraphale had also visited in years gone by, and was eager to visit her once more - for many of the same reasons the humans around them flocked to the Louvre, and a few which he was certain they did not. 

When finally the enigmatic was smile before them, they stood gazing quietly at her, surrounded by others doing likewise - contemplating the subject, the artist, the technique, and (as one person nearby commented rather louder than anyone else) her size. At 77x53cm, many are surprised at how relatively small the Mona Lisa is - certainly when compared with The Last Supper she seems petite - but for all her diminutive stature, she holds her guests rapt attention like few other pieces of art have ever managed to do. Contentedly letting people flow around them, Crowley and Aziraphale stood leaning against one another with fingers interlaced, smiling almost as enigmatically as the lady herself, until they’d had their fill.

Continuing their tour of the Musée, Aziraphale finally spoke. “Leonardo was truly something special, wasn’t he my dear?”  
“That he was,” Crowley said, musing on his old friend.  
“Do you ever wonder what he’d make of the things people have invented based on his work?”  
“I think he’d be delighted to have inspired others. He’d certainly enjoy seeing all the flighted devices people have made. He’d want to study the blueprints for them, to see where he went wrong. He’d be awed by the ingenuity, and heartbroken at the failures that claimed lives. Most of all though, I think he’d be pleased that others have followed in the grand tradition of inventing, and creativity generally.”  
“You miss him, don’t you?”  
“Anyone who ever had the privilege of meeting Leonardo would miss him - he was such an incredible person - there’s been nobody else like him before or since.”

“Should I be jealous?” Aziraphale asked.  
“No, Angel, no need for jealousy. There aren’t many people I’ve liked enough to call a true friend, but he was one of them. Heaven didn’t deserve him, that’s my biggest gripe. Bunch of boring ninnies wouldn’t appreciate him properly the way Hell would, but he was too pure of heart to go there. It’s a shame you never got to meet him. You’d be the only angel who would have understood him at all. You could have answered some of his questions, probably. I think that’s what I liked about him more than anything else - his thirst for knowledge - it was insatiable!”  
“Ah, so he reminded you of you, then?”  
“I suppose he did a bit.”  
“Incessant questions, creative beyond the scope most people can ever comprehend...definitely sounds like you. I think I would have liked him, too.”  
Crowley blushed at the indirect praise, and they lapsed into silence once more. 

When the Louvre closed to the public for the day, they walked back to the Ritz to change before dinner at Le Jules Verne. They had each brought with them one of the new suits Adam had gifted along with the many other changes he’d made, and were looking forward to wearing them for the special occasion - though it was now special in a different way than either of them had intended when packing their luggage for the trip. They drove to the Eiffel Tower in the Bentley, and parked nearby (thank Heaven there was a spot available). After taking the lift to the second floor, they were greeted by the maître d', and ushered to their seats. With a stunning view of Paris out the window, and the intimate setting within the restaurant, one would not have blamed them for hardly looking at each other - but in point of fact, they gazed into each other’s eyes more than at any of their surroundings, and it was plain to all who saw them that they were deeply in love. A few disgruntled conservatives were bothered by their open affection, and a few diners in less than exemplary relationships were rather jealous, but the overwhelming response was more along the lines of “how wonderful they’re so happy together”. 

As the seventh and final course was served, La Vie En Rose began to play - the French version, as the staff had taken a vote, and it had won resoundingly over the English. Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in his, and said “I had a whole speech prepared for this moment - but as we’re already engaged, most of it is moot. There is one part I still need to say though - a quote from a movie, of all things. I know how fond you are of romantic comedies, and I don’t mind one or two of them, so I thought…well…”  
“What movie was clever enough to make it into your speech, my dear?” Aziraphale asked.  
“It’s from When Harry Met Sally. You know, Harry’s speech at the end, when he runs to the New Year’s party, to tell Sally how he feels.”  
“I remember it. Tell me anyway.”  
“Alright.” Crowley cleared his throat, then began a surprisingly good imitation of Billy Crystal. 

"Well, how about this way? I love that you get cold when it’s seventy one degrees out, I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich, I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you’re looking at me like I’m nuts, I love that after I spend a day with you I can still smell your perfume on my clothes and I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because it’s New Year’s Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible."

He continued in his normal voice, though slightly huskier than usual. “Now, I know you don’t get cold at 21.7°C, and I know it’s not New Year’s Eve, but I do love the way you order food, and I do love the way you look at me when you think I’m acting nuts. I love the way your cologne lingers on my clothes after holding you close, and you are absolutely the last person I want to talk to before I fall asleep. I’m not lonely now, but I was every time I was without you, and I cannot wait for us to spend the rest of our lives together. I’m so glad you love me as I love you, and when you counter-proposed to me last night you made me the happiest demon...angel...person...ever to have existed. I love you, Aziraphale. I love you, _I love you_, **I love you**. More than words can ever hope to express - I love you.” Crowley whispered this final iteration, then lapsed into silence.

With tears in his eyes, Aziraphale said “My darling, if we were not already engaged, I can promise you we now would be. I too love you more than I can say, and when you proposed you made ME the happiest person ever to exist - so we shall have to share that title.”  
“I’m happy to share that title with you, along with everything else.” Crowley interrupted quietly.  
Aziraphale continued, smiling. “I want us to share everything - including a home. How do you feel about a cottage in the South Downs - nearer to Tadfield than we are in London, so that it’s easier to visit our friends?”  
“What about your bookshop?”

“I try pretty hard to never sell any of my books anyway, so why continue the pretense? We shall need to modify any cottage to fit them all, and Adam’s lovely wine cellar, and everything else we both own, but I don’t want to live apart anymore. I want your plants in a proper garden - or a proper greenhouse for those that wouldn’t thrive on the Downs - and I want my books in a private library where I never have to worry about grubby fingers touching them ever again. I want to spend my mornings in bed with you, sunny afternoons in the garden with you, and nights looking at the stars with you.”  
“And what about meals? Villages in the South Downs won’t have all the different foods you eat in London.”  
“I shall just have to learn to cook them myself. Maybe you can help me.” Aziraphale suggested.  
“Maybe I can. You’ve already thought about this a lot, haven’t you Angel?” Crowley asked.  
“I have. Every time you go to your flat to care for your plants, I think of how I want us to be together, not apart.”

“Angel. When I - when I thought I’d lost you, I - I didn’t know how to go on. And then you found me. Even when you didn’t have a body, you found me, and you gave me hope, and - and - and I want us to be together too. Every time I go to water my plants I worry that when I get back to the bookshop it will be on fire again, and you’ll be gone again, and this time it’ll be forever. I want us to do everything side by side so that I know you are safe - so that I know they can’t hurt you. I…” Crowley broke down, tears sliding down his cheeks, clasping Aziraphale’s hand so tightly that it would have hurt a human.

“My love, they will NEVER hurt us like that again. God Herself is on our side, and I don’t believe She would allow either Heaven or Hell to divide us - not anymore. Not when we are doing Her work. We will marry. We will move in together. And then we will begin working to save humanity and the Earth. Together.” Aziraphale’s passionate speech was low enough in volume to be heard only by Crowley, but the depth of his emotions could be felt throughout the restaurant. Everyone knew that something important had been said. Everyone knew that someone cared with such feeling that they would sacrifice themselves for their cause, if it came to that. Everyone knew they were loved.

Moments after Aziraphale finished speaking, the music changed to Strauss’s Blue Danube Waltz, and he adjusted Crowley’s grip on his hand. “My dear, would you do me the honour of this dance?”  
“I would love to,” Crowley answered, breathing a deep sigh of relief.  
They danced as Crowley had taught Aziraphale - with Crowley leading, and his radiant angel following. Many of the other couples in the room stood to join them, and the staff had to restrain themselves from participating also. When the waltz ended they share a chaste kiss, then paid the bill, thanked the maître d', and rode the lift back down to ground level. They then drove back to the Ritz, where they spent the remainder of the night kissing and holding each other close, until first Crowley, then Aziraphale drifted off to sleep.

On the final full day of their stay they visited Notre-Dame, where despite the best efforts of all involved, the devastation of the fire was still plainly evident - most obviously in the lack of spire. They spoke with staff of the cathedral, confirming that some of the wealthiest pledges had yet to follow through with donations, and that work could not be completed - or even begun - without a guarantee that the funds would be forthcoming. Crowley followed through on his promise to himself - miracling bank transfers for each of the wealthiest pledges who had failed to fulfill their own promises, and contributing a substantial donation of his own. They toured the parts of the cathedral deemed safe for the public, marvelling at the craftsmanship of those who had built the edifice and decorated it with fine art. The stained glass particularly held their attention, and Aziraphale moved a cloud away from the sun so that the windows could be seen to their best advantage. Crowley kept a gentle hold of Aziraphale’s hand the entire time, and their love for each other was once again evident to all present. Known as a city of both love and light, Paris was no stranger to either, but it had not previously been graced with two angels so incandescent with love - and so even those most accustomed to love in their midst took notice.

After leaving the gothic cathedral they strolled alongside the Seine, crossing it to visit the Fontaine Saint-Michel.  
“It looks nothing like her,” Aziraphale remarked.  
“Well that’s hardly surprising, given that Michael has had a more-or-less female corporation for as long as we’ve known her, and the statue looks like a male,” Crowley replied.  
“Well, there’s that of course, but it doesn’t capture her essence either.”  
“Do you think any statue made by humans could?”  
“Perhaps not. Do you think she’s ever visited it?”  
“Nah, doesn’t seem likely. She spends as little time as possible down here - I doubt visiting fountains is high on her list of priorities, even if they are in tribute to her.”  
“If I found out there was a fountain or a statue or anything in tribute to me, I’d be there in a flash!” Aziraphale said.  
“Oh, I know YOU would, Angel, but you and Michael have as little in common as any two angels possibly could.”  
“Thank Heaven for that!”  
“Agreed!”

They continued their walk along the riverbank, eventually doubling back to retrieve the Bentley, then returning to the Ritz via the most circuitous route imaginable in order to see more sights of the city. After a divine dinner at L’Espadon they spent their final night making the most of their suite - taking another luxurious bath, and grooming each other’s wings. After settling the (quite astronomical) bill the following morning, they headed for Calais - there to make the return journey on the Eurotunnel Le Shuttle - and thence on to London.

They were halfway across the Channel when Aziraphale suddenly exclaimed “we didn’t go for a drive on the Autobahn!”  
Crowley smiled and said “that’s alright, we have plenty of time. We could go back to the continent for our honeymoon, if you’d like. Maybe do the Sound of Music tour?”  
Aziraphale burst out laughing. “As pretty as Austria is, I’d rather we can skip the Sound of Music tour, if that’s alright with you.”  
“Don’t want to climb every mountain, ford every stream?”  
“Not particularly, no. I’d be quite content to sit next to you in the Bentley and watch the scenery go by, though.”  
“That sounds good to me too, Angel.”  
“Calling you my husband will sound better.”  
“I couldn’t agree more. We have a wedding to plan!”  
“We do. I’ve already been working on a playlist.”  
“In the last two days?” Crowley asked.  
“Uh, no. The last two weeks, actually.”  
“You were that confident I’d say yes?”  
“I was.”  
“Me too.”  
“I love you, my dearest darling fiancé,” Aziraphale said.  
“I love you too, fiancé,” Crowley replied.  
They continued happily to London, planning their nuptials together, safe in the knowledge that whatever the future held, they would face it together.

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to go to Paris since I was in grade 3, because our teacher (Mrs Wilson) taught geography with stories, photos and souvenirs from her extensive travels. Thirty years later it's STILL on my bucket list, so I've had to research the heck out of things to be able to tell this with any degree of accuracy. 
> 
> For example, I now know that the [Eurotunnel Le Shuttle](https://www.eurotunnel.com/uk/) takes 95 minutes from Folkestone to Calais, and costs €92-219 for a normal sized car without boxes on the roof, trailers, or bikes.  
According to Google Maps, driving from Soho to the Eurotunnel terminal at Folkestone takes between 1.5 and 2.5 hours, and driving from Calais to the Ritz Paris takes between 3 hours 10 minutes and 4 hours 50 minutes. I've assumed they had good traffic, whether that took a minor miracle or not.  
The [Ritz Suite Impériale](https://www.ritzparis.com/en-GB/luxury-hotel-paris/prestige-suites/imperial-suite) costs upwards of €12,000 per night, and features two bedrooms - one of which replicates Marie-Antoinette's bedroom in the palace of Versailles.  
The seven course dégustation at [Le Jules Verne](https://www.restaurants-toureiffel.com/en/jules-verne-restaurant.html) costs €230 per person.  
The Mona Lisa is kept on display in the [Louvre](https://www.louvre.fr/en), as I'm sure we all know - but she resides in the Galerie Médicis (room 801) until mid-October 2019 while the Salle des États is being renovated. This story is set during the temporary relocation.  
Having been raised Catholic and loving Paris for so long, it was upsetting to see the spire of [Notre-Dame](https://www.notredamedeparis.fr/en/la-cathedrale/) collapse after the fire earlier this year, and I hope to someday see it restored to its full glory.  
The [Fontaine Saint-Michel](http://www.parisbyfoot.com/saintmichelfountain/) is a short walk from Notre-Dame, and seemed worthy of a visit from the Ineffable Fiancés, for obvious reasons.
> 
> This is the [ring](https://www.fairfaxandroberts.com.au/product/hand-engraved-wheat-wreath-ring/) they both proposed with - a gorgeous design from bespoke Australian jeweller Fairfax and Roberts. The wheat design reminded me of feathers, and I had to weave a little bit of my homeland in somehow.  

> 
> La Vie En Rose - [English version](https://youtu.be/I0vUbXkvZTY), and [lyrics](https://www.paroles-musique.com/eng/Edith_Piaf-La_vie_en_rose_English_Version-lyrics,p0286391).  
La Vie En Rose - [French version](https://youtu.be/kFzViYkZAz4), and [lyrics](https://www.paroles-musique.com/eng/Edith_Piaf-La_Vie_En_Rose_1947-lyrics,p06759903).
> 
> Fleetwood Mac - [Songbird](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wTi19MPOvDw).
> 
> The Corrs - [Runaway](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fMUYU8DC1U).  
The Corrs - [The Minstrel Boy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SPbrsC6rOFQ).
> 
> Bonus link because I'm still a huge Star Trek fan even as I write nothing but Good Omens fic - Chief O'Brien and Captain Maxwell singing [The Minstrel Boy](https://youtu.be/RJudJ9S579A) in Star Trek: The Next Generation episode The Wounded.


End file.
